Cold Water
by Beau Menteur
Summary: In the midst of a war that has spiraled out of control, seeking refuge is the only option for children and teenagers; however, a plane accident lands sixteen year old Margaret and two dozen boys not in safety, but on a deserted island with no rules and little order. This arrangement soon leads to a hellish and feral lifestyle. Please see my profile for content/trigger warnings.
1. Chapter 1

_Death is at your doorstep, and it will steal your innocence..._

* * *

Margaret had never learned how to swim; she never quite felt the need to.

In grammar school, while all of her friends were out paddling in local rivers, she was stricken with an illness that lasted four years and kept her bed ridden and incapacitated. In junior high school, just before the swimming unit started in gym class, she had fractured her ankle falling off of a horse, allowing her to opt out of gym and take an art class instead. Early in senior high school, a war had begun that left the school itself closed and no time for activities such as swimming. Never once did she regret not learning this craft, until two years later, in what would have been the beginning of her junior year.

While she never believed there would be the need to swim, she also never believed she would one day find herself in a plane above the Atlantic ocean, trying to escape the war that had clearly spiraled out of control. And never once did Margaret consider that, for a reason unbeknownst to her, the plane she was on would go spiraling out of control, and plunge quickly and fiercely into the dark waters below.

She never believed she would one day have the need to swim, but unfortunately be incapable of doing so.

Margaret didn't want to board the air-machine in the first place; she had begged her mother not to make her go, to let her stay behind with her family, that she would not be a nuisance and they would be safe. Her mother kept repeating the same calm words, _Darling, you must go, we've already missed your first flight, now you must fly with the boys, this is your last chance to go, it isn't safe here, it isn't safe here, it isn't safe here. _Margaret had boarded the plane with misty eyes, refusing to turn around to wave goodbye to her mother. At that moment, she had felt nothing but resentment for the woman, and nothing but resentment for the situation she was in.

The plane was small and overcrowded; the dozens of boys leaving the country that morning spilled out of the seats and into the aisle. They were of mostly young ages, Margaret noted, but there were a few around her age. Some of the boys were plastered up against the windows, crying for their parents and struggling against the flight attendant that tried to put them in their seats. Some of the boys were petrified where they sat, obviously never having ridden a plane before; Margaret found amusement in this, recalling the first time she had flown. Now she knew, it wasn't so bad.

Margaret felt a tap on her shoulder, which she brushed off as an accidental nudge. She continued to make way to an empty seat she spotted in the back of the plane, and while she was carefully stepping over little boys sitting in the aisle, she felt the tap again, firmer this time. It was not until she heard a vaguely familiar voice that she turned around to face the person who tried to get her attention.

"Margaret Thatch?"

When Margaret saw the speaker's face, her mind was blank for a moment. "Simon?" she asked, unsure and embarrassed that she couldn't recall the boy. He, however, smiled and nodded, placing his hand on her shoulder in a causal and friendly gesture. "It's nice to see you." Margaret returned the smile.

It had been years since she had seen Simon Mason last; their fathers, both doctors, were friends and had worked together before Mr. Thatch had been drafted as a combat medic, and Mr. Mason had been killed when a bomb hit the hospice he worked in. Margaret remembered the funeral two years ago, very sad and very quiet as the small Mason family grieved. Simon had been eleven then, three years younger than she.

"I'm surprised you recognized me Simon, it's been awhile, hasn't it? How is your mother?"

"She's well, it's been a few months since I've seen her."

"Oh?"

"She wanted me to continue attending school, and since all the public schools closed down she sent me to a private academy. I'm in a choir there. I boarded with them today." Simon gestured to a group of boys towards the front of the plane dressed in long black robes, all stoical and nonspeaking. Margaret nodded and was about to respond when a loud voice boomed over all the others on the plane: "Simon, we're leaving soon! Get over here, now!" Margaret looked over at the group once more and saw an older boy standing in front of the rest, with messy red hair and a superior stance.

Simon's face flushed. "The choir leader, Jack." he explained, and with few words of goodbye he rushed to the front of the plane where the choir sat, and donned a black robe to match theirs. Margaret smiled after the boy, and scurried to her own seat, which was thankfully still empty. She nestled in and buckled her seatbelt. She looked around at the restless boys on the plane, and the closed her eyes.

She soon drifted off to sleep, blissfully unaware of the trouble that would ensue.

* * *

When Margaret awoke, she was already submerged under five feet of dark, freezing water and sinking a little more each second. She thrashed her arms and legs, trying to swim as she'd seen others do, but her attempts proved futile. She tried to open her eyes, but found herself too terrfied.

No one could hear her scream under the water; she realized this after she made the attempt to, but ended up swallowing three mouthfuls of the salty liquid in the process. She couldn't breathe and she felt as if her eardrums and lungs would soon burst from lack of air. She began to pray, pleading for a release from the madness, still unsure of how this had happened; all she could remember was falling asleep.

Margaret suddenly felt something ripping at her scalp. Her hair was nearly being torn right out of her head, and she tried to scream once more, not having learned her lesson from the first experience.

Frightened and pained, she reached up and began hitting at the force that yanked her upwards; the being just tightened his grasp on her hair and the pain intensified, causing her to struggle even more. Whatever was pulling her suddenly let go, and she felt immense relief. She then felt a pair of arms situate themselves around her ribcage and heave upwards, hoisting her out of the water. More pairs of arms grasped for her, and she found herself being dragged onto something rubbery and inflated. A raft. She gasped for breath, coughing out the saltwater that had infiltrated her lungs.

When she opened her eyes a sliver, she found herself surrounded by five young boys, all chittering, _Is she okay? _and _Give her some space! _She felt dizzy and weak and her scalp was unbelievably sore, but she managed a whisper. "What happened?" she breathed. No one answered her. Instead, they busied themselves with pulling more young boys out of the water and onto the raft.

She looked to her left. The red haired boy in Simon's choir and another older boy were discussing something in hushed tones, as to not let the little ones hear. She looked to her right, and saw a bloody, battered body of a boy hanging halfway over the side of the raft; he must have been injured, and died from his wounds before he was able to get fully on the raft. Margaret screamed.

Everyone turned to look at her, and some of the littlest boys now noticing the body began to cry.

"What's your problem?" Margaret looked upwards. A teenager loomed over her, his eyes narrowed and fierce. His dark hair stuck to his face, and a log black robe was draped over his shoulder. She assumed he was another friend of Simon's.

"I'm s-sorry..." she shivered, pushing her back farther into the raft. The boy crouched down, moving his face close to hers; she could smell liquor on his breath and cigarettes on his clothes. She stared. Had he been drinking and smoking on the plane? He reached up, and with two large rough, coarse hands grabbed each side of her face. He dug his nails into her skin. "Watch yourself." he whispered. Margaret shivered. Had he just _threatened _her?

The boy released her face forcefully, throwing her head backwards against the raft. She gasped, but before she could chide the boy on his bruteness, he had walked away, across the large raft to converse with the other older boys.

Margaret scanned the raft; she spotted the back of a head of who she assumed to be Simon about ten feet away from where she sat, and she felt relieved that he was safe. When he turned around thirty seconds later, Simon was silent, and looked to be in deep thought, until he noticed her staring. He smiled slightly, as if to say _You're okay_, even though she was blind to the gesture.

The raft began to move about five minutes later, when a few of the teenagers had grabbed pieces of plane debris and began rowing. Margaret could make out the shape of a mountain in the distance; an island. From where she sat, she could see a large beach of white sand, surrounding a green jungle filled with tropical plants, trees, and bushes. She knew that was where they were headed, but she began to panic.

Surely, someone must have known where they were, that captain must have radioed somewhere as they were going down, or maybe the plane was tracked on a radar. Still, her mind was swimming with countless _why_s and _what if_s.

* * *

There were twenty-six people who arrived at the island on the raft that day, all under the age of seventeen; Margaret learned this soon after arriving, when a meeting was held to discuss the situation they were in and who's-who.

She also learned that she was the only girl on the island, and judging by the curious stares of everyone else, she wasn't the only person who noticed this. However, she ignored the stares and didn't allow them to cause her discomfort, as the boys were mostly grammar schoolers, and could cause her no real disturbance.

They had all been told to stand in a circle as an older boy with sandy blonde hair spoke. He held what he called a "conch shell," a term foreign to Margaret, in his hands and when the boys got too loud or rowdy, he would blow it and they would return their attention to him. To Margaret, it sounded like trumpet her father used to play after every family dinner; she liked the sound.

"There aren't any adults here." the blonde spoke to the group, "We're all on our own. We have to make our own rules until someone comes to rescue us."

"And what if we don't get rescued?"

"Someone is probably out searching for us as we speak. It may take some time, but we'll make it out of here." He cleared his throat, and offered everyone an encouraging smile. "Now, since we don't know how long we'll be here, I think it's best that we all become acquainted with one another. I'll start. My name is Ralph Hodge, I'm sixteen years old." He passed the conch to a boy standing next to him, with large round glasses and an even larger, rounder face. He was red and sweating, and wiped his forehead with the back of his hand before speaking. "My name is..."

Before he could finish his sentence, he was cut off by someone in the crowd making two loud snorting noises. The large boy blushed and looked down at the ground as everyone laughed at his expense. Margaret pitied the boy.

When everyone quieted down, the boy began again, "As I was saying, my name is..."

"You look like a pig to me! Oink, oink!" The group of boys broke into hysterics once more, a few nearly doubling over at the childish humor. One boy said through his fits of laughter, "We'll call you Piggy!" and a wave of humored agreement flowed through the group as they settled on the poor boy's nickname. The newly donned "Piggy" shrugged sadly, and didn't finish his introduction before passing the conch to his left, so that the next boy could speak, and the next, and the next. Margaret watched with mild interest, until the conch was handed off to Simon. He spoke shyly.

"My name is Simon Mason...I'm thirteen." From across the circle, Ralph smiled widely at the younger boy. "It's nice to meet you, Simon." he said, offering him a kindness that he hadn't the other boys. Simon showed his appreciation with a nod and a slight wave. He passed the conch on to the next boy, who introduced himself as Roger Lector; Margaret recognized him as the boy who had harassed her on the raft. Even now, he spoke coldly and harshly. She felt uncomfortable listening to him speak.

The conch was then handed to a younger boy, six years old, who said his name was Michael but asked for the group to call him Mikey; Mikey then passed the shell to a pair of twins named Sam and Eric, who were fifteen and finished each other's sentences. The twins passed the shell on to an older boy named Maurice, who gave it to a younger boy named Parker, who then gave it to the redheaded boy who Margaret had seen on the plane; the leader of Simon's choir. Margaret became attentive once more.

"My name is Jack Merridew. I'm seventeen years old..." He was about to pass the conch on once more before quickly adding, "...and I can find us food. I can hunt." The boys suddenly began to whisper, about how "cool" hunting seemed, and how they wanted to hunt, too.

Ralph silenced them. "We'll discuss responsibilities later, Jack." he said sternly, "Besides, how are we to know if there is even anything to hunt on this island? It's most likely uninhabited."

Jack Merridew rolled his eyes and gave the conch shell to a little boy named Howard.

The shell made a few more stops around the circle before Margaret found it lying in her own two hands; she introduced herself, trying to sound calm and mature, and as confident as all the older boys had. "My name is Margaret Thatch, and I'm sixteen." She smiled at the group, and a few of the younger boys smiled back. Most of the boys however looked at her in a state of half-confusion, half-interest. She ignored their gawking, and passed the shell to a boy standing next to her, who introduced himself as Carlton. The group moved on.

Margaret was not unfamiliar with the male gender, having grown up around seven boy cousins. She knew boys liked horseplay and gross humor, and had a sense of curiosity for girls; she found it only natural for those on the island with her to wonder and take an interest in her. For that reason, she decided that she would not get upset when they stared at her, so long as she didn't feel threatened. She felt content with this decision.

After every introduction was said and done, it was decided amongst the boys that the stern and admirable Ralph would be their leader on the island and maintain control. In this decision, Margaret's opinion was not sought; however, she respected the choice and figured that throughout all of the older boys, Ralph came across as the most mature and responsible.

She noticed that when this decision was reached, the red-headed Jack seemed displeased. She struggled to not roll her eyes at the obvious display of jealousy.

Ralph was quick to assign tasks to people, _You make huts out of those palm leaves, you two search for fruit, you find a fresh water source. _Jack Merridew continued to talk about hunting, insisting that his choir would be ideal for the job. Ralph insisted that they didn't need to hunt yet; he then pulled Simon aside and the two began whispering to each other.

Ralph turned to back to Jack, and asked, "Simon and I wanted to look for some kind of life on the island, would you like to come with us? You're the oldest one here, after all." Jack looked unconvinced. Ralph pressed on.

"While we're looking, we might find something for you lot to hunt. Then, by all means, you can take charge of the choir as hunters, and do as you please." Jack eyed Simon, who stood behind Ralph. "Why does _that __one_ have to go with us? He'll just slow us down." He folded his arms across his chest. Margaret, watching the exchange from afar, frowned at the redhead.

"Because I want Simon to join us. Are you coming or not, Jack? You do want to hunt, don't you?"

Jack let out an exasperated sigh and nodded his head; the three boys began to walk into the jungle behind the beach. Margaret, watching them leave and realizing that she was not yet assigned a job to do, began to pursue the group. "Ralph, wait!" she called, and as Ralph turned around to meet her, she question him. "What should I do for work around here?" Ralph opened his mouth to speak, but was cut off by Jack, who had turned to speak to her as well. "You're a _girl_ Mary, aren't you a little too pretty to be doing work like this?"

Margaret had never seen herself as terribly pretty; in the eyes of all the boys she knew, she, in fact, was right.

She was strictly "normal" looking, with a face of freckles, and upper front teeth that overlapped the lower thus forming an overbite. Her hair was naturally plain and straight, and she couldn't get it to curl if it were a matter of life and death. She had thin, stick-like arms and legs, and her hips had only the slightest amount of curve to them. Her breasts were considerably average sized. She prided herself in the fact that she was not consumed in her looks.

Therefore, when she had heard Jack say this, she was taken aback, however not by his back-handed compliment. "Excuse me?" she asked, and she could feel her face turning a light shade of pink. "My name is _Margaret, _not Mary...and I can handle any sort of work." She folded her arms across her chest, feeling bold. "Also, I don't believe I asked _you," _she hesitated, and then whispered under her breath, "_moron._" Jack glared at her, and under his own breath, whispered "_Bitch._"

Margaret really never argued with anyone, and in that moment she felt brash and empowered. But before she could retaliate with a worse insult for Jack, Ralph interjected.

"Actually Margaret, I meant to ask if you would join us on our walk? I would hate to exhaust you with work." Having expected Ralph to stand up for her, Margaret felt her face heat up again and folded her arms even tighter. Jack smiled smugly at her. "I can do work just fine. You have the children working, so why not me?" She began to feel angrier and more embarrassed by the second.

"I just thought you would enjoy a walk," said Ralph, innocently. "All the jobs are being taken care of. I'm not going to assign any more work, so why don't you just join us?" Margaret was about to refuse and walk away, but another voice piped up behind Ralph. "Please come with us Margaret, it'd be nice to be able to speak to you."

Margaret met the eyes of Simon, who was obviously just trying to avoid conflict. She frowned perversely, but seemingly against her own will, she sighed and accepted. Ralph smiled and the three boys turned their backs to her, and she followed them staring only at the ground. She felt defeated though she knew there was never an even battle.

As they entered the jungle, Simon fell behind the two older boys, who busied themselves with mindless conversation, and walked next to Margaret. He reached out and grabbed the crook of her arm. She looked up from the ground and at him. He smiled at her, and she sighed.

They were lost, stranded on an island, and already she found conflict with the people she was with.

She felt as though she was already in too deep; for the first time in her life, she regretted not having learned how to swim.

* * *

**A/N:** My first LoTF fic in over a year and a half? What? And it's another cliche girl on the island story? WHAT?

While I am happy to have returned to the site and to be writing again, I am a little rusty around the edges, so please bare with me, I'm just trying to get back on my feet again. I'll probz be coming back to this chapter to edit it. I hope to have the next one up in a week or so, but who knows.

The rating as of now (T) is SUBJECT TO CHANGE TO M AT ANY TIME. (But I will announce the rating change in the chapter before I change it, just so you know where to look for it next time.)

The song quoted at the beginning is "Timshel" by Mumford and Sons (highly recommended oooh)

Also please review even if you don't have anything to say about the story at all like just tell me about your day or what you had for lunch I like communicating with you all

Thanks

:)


	2. Chapter 2

_You are pulled from the wreckage, of your silent reverie..._

* * *

The jungle was thick with creeping vines that hung in Margaret's path as she walked. They licked at her ankles and arms, and the occasional thorny brush would graze her shin and cause her to wince, but she wouldn't allow the boys to think her weak or annoying by voicing her pain. She wouldn't allow them another reason for them to look down on her, and then blame it on her being a girl.

While Simon had not spoken to her since they had left, he kept his careful grasp on her arm; sometime in the past five minutes, she had decided that she was not angry with Simon, only upset that he did not stick up for her. But, she decided, it wasn't his fault. The two other boys were older and more authoritative than Simon, and his opinion wouldn't have been valued much anyway.

Other than the over-the-shoulder glances every now and then, Jack and Ralph paid her no attention as they walked; they instead busied themselves with idle chit-chat that Margaret did not care to listen to. Instead, she looked around the jungle. It seemed dense and swarming with vivid greens and tans and browns. At the tops of some trees, she could see tropical fruits that she had only ever read of in books or seen in pictures. They were nestled under large palm leaves that shadowed the jungle floor; looking directly upwards, she could see blue sky peeking though the silhouette of the leaves.

The jungle itself was beautiful and Margaret couldn't bring herself to deny this. However, the lovely tropical trees and plants did not make her happy or enchanted in any way, as the situation she was in caused her to grow nervous with passing second.

Yes, the jungle was beautiful, but it was not homely. Would she ever be returning home? She began to sweat. Would she ever see her mother and father again?

She hadn't even given her mother a proper farewell, she realized. Margaret had frowned at Mrs. Thatch, muttered a semi-polite "Goodbye," and had turned on her heel and walked away. She hadn't looked back, there were no _I love you_s or _I'll miss you_s, no hugging or daughterly kisses. Margaret felt guilty. If she never were to see her mother again...would that be how she was remembered? A bitter, hurt, angst-ridden teenager?

"Look, a clearing!"

Before Ralph's exclamation, Margaret hadn't noticed the tears that had been brimming on her eyes. Realizing once more where she was and who she was with, she quickly blinked them away. She looked at Ralph, who was pointing ahead of them, where a cluster of trees separated and revealed a glimpse of a green field. He and Jack suddenly began to race to the clearing, taunting eachother with who could make it there first. Simon and Margaret were left behind, and walked after them.

Simon had let go of her arm so they could walk a little faster. She wouldn't have minded if he had ran ahead with the two older boys, but she appreciated not being left alone. Simon was the first to break the silence between the two.

"Margaret, is something on your mind?" Margaret turned her head to look at him, and cocked her eyebrows. "No, why do you ask?" "I noticed you were crying before. I didn't want to bring it up, but seeing you like that worries me."

"Oh, Simon, I'm just fine. I wasn't even crying, I was just tearing up...a lot of plants around, you know. Allergies." She smiled at the younger boy, and after a few moments, he smiled back. The knowing look in his eyes however told Margaret that he was aware she was lying. She ignored it, and changed the topic of conversation to not focus on herself.

"The weather is pleasant, isn't it?" She rolled up the sleeves on her sweater, which she now noticed had become torn and dirty in places from the accident.

"It is," Simon agreed, with a nod towards the sky, "but do you see those broken branches there, at the tops of the trees? There's a lot of storms here, it seems. Rainy, tropical storms, like typhoons." Margaret looked up at the branches Simon referred to. He continued speaking. "If we're lucky, none will hit us while we're here. There's no way we'd be able to withstand it."

The conversation died out as the two entered the clearing; Ralph and Jack already stood in the middle of the large field, facing the other way and pointing around at the views. As Simon and Margaret approached them, they realized the boys were bickering, both having not known which direction faced north. Ralph insisted it was the direction they had come from; Jack believed it was straight ahead. Margaret found herself annoyed at the petty argument, and without thinking she interrupted the conversation. "What does it matter?"

The boys, realizing Margaret and Simon had reached them, turned to face them, an expression of both confusion and slight annoyance etched across Jack and Ralph's faces. "Pardon, Margaret?" Ralph asked, out of politeness. Margaret regretted having not bitten her tongue, now possibly facing another altercation.

"I mean to say," she started, shrugging innocently, "why do we need to know which direction is which? How does that help us?" Ralph raised his eyebrows at her, unsure of what to make of her input. Before he could reply however, Jack raised his voice.

"How does the stupid opinion of a _girl_ help us?" Jack folded his arms across his chest, feeling triumphant for coming up with what he saw as such a clever insult. The corners of Ralph's mouth raised slightly and he struggled to keep a straight face, apparently amused with the comeback as well. Margaret rolled her eyes and waited for a response.

"Well Margaret, while it really isn't _your _place to say." Ralph said gently, sincerely not seeing himself as insulting and as Margaret's eyebrows furrowed, "I guess that does make sense."

He sighed, and turned to a frowning Jack, who groaned. Ralph then turned away from all of them, and looked at the parts of the island he could see from where they stood.

"We're on a mountain," he said, and the others looked around, realizing it as well, "look, you can see pretty much everything from here. The beach, even." He extended his arm, and sure enough, where Ralph pointed Margaret could see the group they had arrived with scurrying about on the white sands, like a group of ants collecting rations. Ralph continued. "It's a pretty big island, and we were right, there's no inhabitants. No people, at least." He paused. "Except us. You can't see any other islands from here, either."

Margaret took in the view from the clearing in awe. The island seemed massive to her; along with the beach, she could see lagoons, and on one side of the island there was a large white cliff next to a field. More than anything else, she could see what seemed like miles of trees, and off of the island, miles and miles of empty, sad-looking ocean.

"We're far away from anything." Simon mumbled, to no one in particular. "We're all alone here." Margaret felt her heart sink. _Alone. _She realized it hadn't quite set in yet for her, that they were lost. They were stranded and _alone._

Jack, who had seemingly emerged from his sulk, suddenly piped up once more. "Oh, come on Simon," he said almost enthusiastically, "we're not alone, we've all got each other! There may be no adults, sure, but we've got me and I can hunt! You know I'm a good leader, choirboy!" In his glass-half-full state, he bounded a few steps over to Ralph, and draped an arm around him. "We have Ralph, too! He's smart and he knows what he's doing." Ralph grinned, and Jack removed his arm and turned to Simon and Margaret.

"We have the little kids, and they'll do anything we ask, you know." He then made eye contact with Margaret, although he was still speaking solely to Simon. "We have the girl here too and she'll be some help to us, somehow, even if she is a bit of a..."

He cut his sentence short and broke his eye contact, turning to face the same direction as Ralph. Margaret fumed.

"Face it, this isn't so bad. It's nice even! Dare I say it, grand!" He cleared his throat and his excited demeanor began to calm. He spoke quieter, as if to himself. "There aren't any adults. We can do whatever we may want. This is _our _haven, _we're _in charge here."

After Jack's revelation, the four stood in silence for what felt to Margaret like an eternity. Simon reached over to her and took her arm in his hand once more. She shifted her weight, nearly leaning on him, and waited for either Jack or Ralph to do something. Instead, they stood for about three more minutes. Margaret began to feel almost bored, until Ralph finally spoke up.

"Look, the sun is setting. It would be best if we head back to the beach."

As she entered the dense jungle for the second time, Margaret was suddenly plagued with thoughts of going to sleep, snuggling in her big, warm bed at home. Before then, she hadn't realized how tired she was. The day's events had exhausted her, through-and-through. She found herself beginning to drag her feet, and closed her eyes, allowing Simon to guide her as they walked.

Ah, home. Margaret lived comfortably at home; her parents were well off, and she was an only child and chose to reap the benefits of it. As a child, she was admittedly spoiled. She received dolls and dresses and bows at the drop off a hat, possibly one of the dozens of hats she owned. Her mother was an author and she worked from home, and Margaret could see her and bond with her whenever she wanted. After having become a combat medic, Margaret's father would often travel, but would make a point to send his wife and daughter lavish gifts from wherever he was stationed at the time.

When Mrs. Thatch had told her daughter that she would be departing so she could be safe, Margaret nearly had a conniption. She was embarrassed looking back at the incident, knowing that sixteen was too old to be throwing a fit. But, she decided, if throwing a thousand more would not have landed her in this situation, she wouldn't have even considered getting on that plane and leaving.

After all, how was she any safer here than she would have been at home?

Margaret awoke from her sleepy stupor when she bumped into Jack from behind. She was about to scorn him, but heard him _shh-_ing the two other boys; Margaret stepped back from where she had collided with him, curious.

"Did you hear that?" Jack whispered, and reached into his pocket. "Hear what?" Ralph replied, but Jack shushed him once more.

"I heard something."

"We were just walking, it was our footsteps."

"No, something _else._"

"The wind?"

"Would you be quiet?" Jack's whispering was furious now, almost frantic. "I heard a rustling. An animal, I think." The group stood silently for a few moments, unmoving. In an instance, a black blob shot across the path they were walking, startling the group out of their silence. Jack nearly rejoiced. "It's a pig!"

Without warning, he shot off after the animal, and the other three were suddenly running after him, struggling to keep up. For a moment, they lost sight of the redhead, but after a more paces of sprinting, caught up to him. He was facing away, standing very still. After a few more steps and closer observation, they realized he was standing over the pig, which had gotten tangled in some vines. "Jack..." Ralph began to speak, but a raised hand ushered for him to stop.

He, Margaret, and Simon were nearly frozen as Jack reached into his pocket and removed a knife, then squatted over the pig, the weapon raised.

Jack sat there for about thirty seconds, knife still in the air, contemplating the act he wanted to commit. Margaret could see his grip on the knife tighten, and then loosen, and then tighten again. He knelt closer to the pig, and then further away. Margaret found it suspenseful to watch.

A few moments later, the stunned pig began to wriggle and before Jack could go forth with his action, it had removed itself from its restraints and dashed away, leaving the three shocked teenagers in its wake. They were still for a few seconds more, until Jack raised the knife above the head and then slammed it into the ground, releasing a cry of frustration. "I'll get it right next time." he muttered. He sighed and removed the knife from the soil, and stood.

He turned to face the others. "Jack," Ralph repeated, louder now that the pig had escaped, "where did you get that knife?" Jack looked down at his hand, and then lifted the knife as to let the others get a better look at it. He shrugged. "Brought it from home. We're lucky that they didn't search us before getting on the plane." He grinned almost childishly. "We have a weapon. It's protection. That's good." Ralph, still looking a bit perplexed, lifted his heat to face Jack's and nodded in both agreement and approval. He stepped aside as to let Jack walk next to him, and the group resumed their walk back to the beach.

For whatever reason, thinking about the knife she now knew Jack kept with him did not make her feel any safer; if anything it just made her more afraid, more nervous about living on this island. She was already not having good relations with him, and now, she felt almost threatened.

Her worry, however, was short lived; she took a few more steps forward, and that was the last thing she could remember doing before fainting from exhaustion.

* * *

When Margaret awoke, she was dazed and memories of the bizarre yet realistic dream she'd just had plagued her. It was only after noticing that she lay in the sand under an array of palm leaves supported by branches that she realized that it, in fact, was not a dream, but a living nightmare. She groaned and reach towards her knee. It was throbbing. She must have hit it when she fell.

She didn't feel well-rested in the least; judging by the lack of light coming in though the spaces in the leaves, she had only been asleep a few hours. Still, she supposed she had gained enough energy to sit up where she lay, so she did.

"Well, I'm glad to see you're awake."

It did not take more than the sarcastic tone of the speaker's voice for Margaret to realize that it was of Jack. Still, she turned her body to face him, but she could only see his shadowed silhouette in the darkness. He knelt in the opening to the crudely constructed hut that she had slept in. She rolled her eyes, even though she knew he couldn't see it in the dark. "Can I help you, Jack?"

She could hear the smirk in his voice when he replied. "All I want is a thank-you, for carrying you all the way back to the beach. That's all." Margaret's face went red, but whether it was out of embarrassment or anger, she didn't know. "You did that?" she asked, with a pseudo calm, and continued speaking before he could reply, "Well, thank you Jack. Now, if you don't mind, I'd like to go back to sleep." She turned away from him and laid back down, closing her eyes. However, she could still sense his presence in the shelter. "I'm going to need you to be a little more sincere," he said with ease in his voice, "you probably don't realize this, but you're a lot heavier than you look."

Margaret blushed again, and this time she was sure it was out of anger. "Why are you so awful to me, Jack?" she questioned, sitting back up, "We don't even know each other, and you're so cruel."

Jack kept his cool demeanor. "Well, you're not so sweet to me, either." She suddenly saw his silhouette creep closer to her and felt him lean towards her ear. She could feel his breath on the side of her face. She was mildly disgusted. "Besides Margaret, we'll be here for quite awhile, it seems. You're the only girl. So we might as well," he got even more close, "_get to know each other._"

She stirred away from him faster than she knew she could. She resisted the urge to slap him. "That's vulgar." she spat, and glared at him even though she knew he couldn't see it. She heard him sarcastically sigh.

"As I said Margaret, we will be on this island for awhile. So, the vulgarity?" he blindly reached forward and almost sympathetically placed a hand on her shoulder, "Get used to it. That rough-and-tough mask you've got on? It won't last long until everyone sees you as the weak girl you are. I'm just preparing you. You should be thankful." She shuddered, and slapped his hand off her shoulder.

"I'd be thankful if you left me alone now, Jack." She spoke quietly, turning away once more and laying back down. She shut her eyes tightly, and listened to him as he chuckled softly, and whispered _bitch _under his breath as he had that afternoon. He waited a few seconds, but eventually crawled out of the shelter and left, to her relief. All she wanted now was peace.

Before long however, she heard more movement at the entrance of her hut, and then a nervous whisper. "Margaret? Are you okay?"

Margaret sighed. She recognized the voice, and it belonged to a friend this time. "Yes Simon, I'm fine. I was just really tired, but I feel a bit better now." She heard Simon drag himself to sit next to where she was laying. He pulled his knees up to his chest. "I was worried when it happened." He cleared his throat, then continued. "Jack carried you all the way down the mountain. He insisted that he do it."

Margaret almost scoffed, knowing that Jack only wanted to play the hero around the others. "Did he?" she said with fake interest. Simon must not have realized that Jack visited her too. "That's nice of him."

Simon shrugged, but Margaret didn't see. Margaret sighed again. "I do hate to be a nuisance though."

Simon placed a hand on her shoulder as Jack had, only this was sincere and more reassuring for her. "Don't feel bad," Simon said gently, "I faint sometimes too. All the time, actually."

This surprised Margaret. "You do?" she asked, and he assured her with an _mm-humph! _He went on to explain further. "I fainted today, after we returned to the beach. I was alone, though, so it wasn't embarrassing. I usually wake up after a few minutes." Margaret nodded, and he kept on. "I used to pass out a lot in choir, with Jack and the boys. They would tease me, say that I'm always _throwing a faint._ Especially Jack, he was awful mean to me..."He grew quieter, and his sentence trailed off.

Margaret took this opportunity to speak, "Simon," she whispered, "it's not that I don't care to know all of this, I'm just curious. Why are you telling me this?" Simon yawned, and said very causally, "Because we're friends. I like talking to you." This made Margaret smile. Yes, she supposed, she and Simon were friends. She was happy to have a friend, a real friend, on the island. She could tell that he was, too. "Simon?"

"Yes?"

She could tell the younger boy was drifting off to sleep where he sat. It was late, and they were both tired. She began to scoot her sleeping body to one side of the small makeshift shelter. "You can sleep here with me tonight, if you want." she whispered. With neither a confirmation nor objection, she felt Simon loll himself onto the ground next to her, and moments later, he was already sound asleep.

Having a friend made her feel safe, she realized. If she had to be stranded on this island with anyone, she decided, she was thankful it was Simon, a friend. Her friend.

After a few minutes, she joined her friend in slumber.

* * *

**A/N: **I feel c00l because I used to say "I'll update in a week" and it would take a month BUT LOOK IT WASN'T A MONTH THIS TIME HELL YEAH!

The song quoted at the beginning of this chapter is "Angel" by Sarah McLachlan.

Before anything else, I'd like to point out that this is not a SimonxOC fic, or a JackxOC fic, or an AnythingxAnything fic, so I'll apologize now if that's what you're expecting. Sorry, lovelies.

In reply to Cocolada's review:  
Embarrassingly enough, I didn't know who Margaret Thatcher even was before reading your review, so I did the natural thing and googled her, and I almost wish I had based my character off of her! In actuality, I based a lot of her after Milo Thatch from Atlantis. Other than the name, I used Milo as inspiration for her looks (thin physique, straight brown hair, etc.) and her personality (the desire to exceed what others expect of her, but lacking the gusto to take that on). I had originally written her as also having had glasses that she lost in the accident, but I changed that about halfway through the first chapter and edited it. And as far as my other fics go, about a year ago (maybe two years?) I had started two LoTF fics, then lost motivation for both. I deleted them both, which I now regret seeing as I could have gone back and finished them now. Woe woe woe. Anyways, thank you for your kind words! I appreciate it!

Thank you to those of you who have read or reviewed or followed or favorited. I'm sending you my kisses, mwah, mwah!

Once again, reviews are much appreciated! I hope you all have a lovely lovely morning/afternoon/night!


	3. Chapter 3

_If you're lost, you can look, and you will find me..._

* * *

Margaret hadn't expected to be awoken at what felt like such an ungodly hour, especially by a loud, migraine-inducing trumpet; a few minutes later as she was dragging herself out of her sleeping position, she realized that it was not a trumpet she heard, but Ralph's conch shell, making the scenario a bit more believable. Having opened her eyes to find Simon already gone, she forced herself to crawl out of the makeshift hut, and onto the beach where most of the boys were already standing at attention.

She found Simon in the cluster and took her place next to him. His eyes were drooped and decorated with matching dark circles, and every time he yawned he would nearly lose his balance and topple over. When he noticed Margaret, he gave her a sleepy wave, but said nothing more.

"What's going on here?" she leaned in and whispered to him, watching Ralph who stood in front of the group, waiting for everyone to gather. Simon shrugged, and whispered back, "Just a meeting, I think." Margaret nodded and straightened herself.

Next to Ralph stood the round looking boy who had been branded Piggy. He held the conch protectively in his chubby hands; Margaret recalled him saying that he couldn't blow it himself on account of his "ass-mar." Ralph must have handed it to him after using it to try and include him, she figured. She smiled. Ralph seemed so kind.

"I'd like to call this meeting to order." Ralph began speaking just as the last boy, a six year old named Percival, scurried to the front of the crowd. He smiled at the boy and continued, "Yesterday, myself and a few others went on a walk through the jungle, and we found a clearing at the very top. From there, we were able to tell that there are no signs of civilization on this island, and no other land forms nearby." A chorus of groans rippled through the group, and Ralph raised his hand for silence. "However," he said, and looked over at Jack, who grinned, "we did come across a pig, and where that one came from, there's bound to be more."

The irate manner of the boys quickly turned to one of excitement, and they bounced around whispers of hunting things and killing things. Piggy attempted to quiet them, shouting "Order, order boys!" and then inhaled deeply, having lost his breath yelling. When his attempts proved futile, Ralph simply raised his voice over the banter, overpowering their voices.

"We'll have to assemble a group of hunters to go after the animals, and that responsibility will be Jack's, so if you wish to help, do consult him." He nodded at the redheaded boy, who raised his right hand and gave him a mock-salute with his index and middle fingers. The others, who had calmed by then, brought their attention back to Ralph, who ran his fingers through his blonde hair.

He went on to speak. "The huts look to be a bit unstable, so we'll have to try to secure them, but other than that you all did a nice job in constructing them." The boys who had done so grinned up at the leader. "Good job to those of you who found the sources of fruit," he gestured towards a pile of colorful shapes laying in the sand that Margaret hadn't noticed before, "next, we'll need to find a water source." Margaret's stomach rumbled; she hadn't eaten before boarding the plane for fear of motion sickness. She was only now realizing how empty her stomach felt.

"A little hungry?"

Margaret was surprised at the voice in her ear. She turned to meet the face of the speaker, ignoring the speech Ralph continued to give. She found herself looking into two narrowed brown eyes, and gasped at how close they were to her own face. She took a step back and examined the boy who had whispered to her, finding him to be Roger. She recalled he had been so rough with her on the raft. He smiled at her; something about his smile made her nervous. Roger, who had been leaning down to meet his face to hers, straightened his posture. "A little jumpy too, I might add."

She frowned at him. "Well, you frightened me," she whispered back, annoyed and hoping for an apology that she already knew wouldn't come. He shrugged at her, and bent down to her eye-level once more. "Margaret," his breath smelled sour and she felt she could gag, but decided it was better than the stench of cigarettes and liquor, "I told you once to watch yourself. You obviously don't heed warnings very well."

She was confused. "What are you talking about?" she asked, "I haven't done anything. I haven't gone anywhere near you." Roger smirked and reached forward, firmly, almost painfully, gripping her forearm. She gasped.

"I'm not talking about me," he seethed, "I'm talking about Jack, daft girl. Don't disrespect him." He squeezed her forearm harder, and when she replied to him, she accidentally yelled.

"I haven't disrespected _anyone!_"

Roger quickly dropped his arm. Two dozen heads turned to stare at her all at once, and she felt her face go red. Feeling reluctant and humiliated, she turned her body back to face Ralph, whose talking had been interrupted by her outburst. He stared at her as well, confused and curious. "Is everything...okay, Margaret?" he asked her slowly, and she bit her lip and nodded. "Yes," she said quietly, "my apologies, Ralph."

He continued to stare at her for a few moments more, and then directed his attention to his speech once more. The other boys did the same. She looked down at her arm where Roger had grabbed it, still feeling the soreness. Five bruises had already began to form.

"You have disrespected him," the whispering continued in her ear, this time from behind as to not draw attention, "and it's my job to assure that does not happen again."

Margaret looked at Simon from the corners of her eyes, hoping for him to realize that she was being threatened and to help her. Instead of noticing what was happening only two feet to his right, Simon had his eyes closed, and was breathing evenly and heavily. She forced herself not to groan. He was sleeping standing up, and would obviously be no help to her.

"Jack is going to be leader," Roger continued. Margaret's eyes widened. "But Ralph's leader." When she replied, she did not raise her voice or turn her head, as to not anger him. He laughed very quietly, under his breath. "Jack's going to get rid of him, Jack's going to be _chief._"

Before Margaret could question him, both of their attention was suddenly drawn to Ralph, who had blown into the conch. "Alright," Ralph said, smiling and folding his arms across his chest in an authoritative manner, "are there any questions? Anyone?" A little hand in the front of the group shot up into the air. Ralph looked at the boy to whom it belonged and nodded. "Yes?"

"Well, um..." the boy started, nervous to be speaking in front of the group, "what are we going to do about...about the beast?" Everyone surrounding looked at the child, who elaborated. "The, um...the beast, in the woods..." "What beast?" Ralph questioned, squatting as to meet the young boy, face-to-face. "The beast!" the little boy said, louder and more frantic, "I saw it last night! It's a monster!"

All of the other boys suddenly began to laugh at the boy's expense. He dropped his head to stare at the ground, as if ashamed. Ralph raised a hand in silence once more; he reached forward and placed a hand on either of the boy's shoulders. "There is no beast or monster in the jungle," he assured, and the boy's head perked up ready to argue with the statement, but Ralph persisted, "there isn't anything there." Still, the boy nodded, and his eyes widened. "There is!" he cried. "It's big! Like...like a dragon! It was going to eat me but I ran away from it!"

Nearby, Jack scoffed and the child turned to look at him. "You probably just saw a snake," Jack said, rolling his eyes, "it is a jungle, there's probably snakes all over. Now act more like a man, and not a baby." Hearing this, the little boy's eyes began to well up with tears, and he looked back at Ralph. "Hey, that's not nice!" Piggy chided Jack, who rolled his eyes and ignored the large boy.

Ralph sighed. "It was just a snake." he said, agreeing with Jack. He released the child's shoulders and stood up, addressing the group, some of who still giggled at the boy for fearing a monster in the jungle. "Now," he said, "we're all going to walk up to the clearing. If we're going to be here, we need to make a fire somehow. Jack, if you'd lead the way," he gestured to the older boy, who nodded, "haul out, men."

Jack started into the jungle and the group followed, Ralph lingering where he stood to see them all go. When he spotted Margaret in the back of the crowd, he placed a hand on her arm and stopped her before she left with them.

"Margaret," he said quietly as the others walked out of earshot, "you should stay here. The hike is probably too much for you. I'd hate to have you fainting again."

The girl gaped at him, taken aback. "But," she said, angrily brushing his hand off of her arm, "yesterday I was just tired, I can handle the hike just fine! This is silly." To make her point, she stomped her foot in the sand. However, he just folded his arms across his chest and said sternly, "Stay here, Margaret. That's an order." She opened her mouth to argue with him, but the expression on his face told her_ My decision is final. _She groaned and mumbled, "Fine." Ralph grinned at her. "Thank you for making this easy Margaret, now I'll be seeing you when we get back."

He turned to leave, but hesitated and whirled back to her. "Be careful here by yourself," he said, and began to list off rules for her, "don't go near the water, don't leave this site, don't eat any fruit other than what we have gathered on the beach." He smiled at her, almost shyly. "I'd be devastated if anything happened to you, you know."

Was he making a _pass _at her? She felt disgusted by this, especially after he had just given her _orders _like he was her _father. _Margaret bit her tongue, trying to not reply rudely. "Thank you, Ralph," she said, her voice taking on a somewhat acidic tone, "you are very kind."

Ralph grinned and winked, and then was running off after the rest of the boys. She waited until he was out of earshot to begin laughing.

The situation was amusing to her, really; was he actually going to try to court her in a place like this? She laughed harder. They treated her as if she was dense, but here Ralph was, trying to romance her, stranded on an island. She sighed. Boys did foolish things, she decided, and she was not going to let herself fall prey to such foolishness.

She turned and stared at the entrance to the jungle, where the boys had entered. She found herself growing angry; who was Ralph to tell her she couldn't go? This was, dare she say it, damn stupid. She could do anything the boys could do, probably more. So why was she the one standing here on an empty beach under "orders" to not do anything remotely "unsafe?"

Annoyed, she sat down in the sand and groaned. _I shouldn't have to deal with this, I should just do as I please..._

Without a second thought, she had bolted up and was making her own way towards the jungle, after the group of boys. She was going to keep her distance as to not let Ralph see her and send her back, but she _would _meet them there and they would _have _to let her stay. She was confident in this plan.

She entered the trees, she was walking, she was running. Greens and browns blurred past her, or rather, she blurred past them. She was excited to stand up for herself. The boys were nowhere to be seen, and she was suddenly going faster. Her skirt slapped against her legs and her hair billowed behind her. She was probably expecting too much, she was probably in over her head, she was probably going to embarrass herself but she was ready to be taken seriously and she was running faster and faster and then she tripped.

When she tripped, she fell. Her body slammed down into the dirt, as well as her face which collided into a so terribly placed stone. It had struck her nose and she cried out; she could already feel droplets of blood dribbling from her nostrils. She attempted to stand and found that she couldn't. She looked behind at what had tripped her, and discovered three thick vines rooted into the ground tangled around her left ankle.

Margaret reached and tried to ease herself out of the vines, but the more she moved or struggled, the more tangled and tighter they became. She groaned. This was a setback. She attempted to tear the vines, pulling them in different directions, but they were too tough. She attempted to pull them from ground by their roots, but she realized that the blood she was losing from her nose was making her feel dizzy.

Looking up, she could see the opening to the clearing from where she lay. She was so close, _so close. _

She situated herself in a somewhat comfortable position and began to think, clutching her nose with one hand.

She could yell for Ralph and wait for him to come get her, and then receive a long, drawn-out lecture about how she was reckless from a boy she barely knew...she could continue trying to force her way out, lose more blood, and be lectured about her actions anyway...

However, Margaret was never able to choose between the two, as she suddenly felt heat on her back, a more intense heat than just the tropical climate.

She turned her head about ninety degrees, and instead of brown tree trunks and green bushes, her attention was drawn to the parting in the trees that lead to the clearing. It was orange and red and yellow, it was burning. It was on fire, and the flames were beginning to lick the edges of the field, closing in on the jungle. Without full realization of the situation, she screamed. The boys were in the clearing, and it was on _fire. _

And pretty soon, the flames would catch the jungle, and she was in the jungle and she absolutely couldn't move. She kept screaming; she wasn't sure exactly what it was she was saying, it may have been _Help me_, it may have been _Fire_, it may have been just wordless, terrified screams. She kept struggling, and the vines were tightening.

Suddenly, Margaret was hit in the back of the head by something heavy and brute; she wasn't conscious long enough to question who or what it was.

* * *

When she awoke, her cranium was sore and she felt embarrassing, having believed herself to have fainted for the second time since arriving on the island. She did not immediately open her eyes, instead preparing herself for Ralph's lesson on why she should do as she's told. She was, in fact, surprised to even be awake, seeing as the last thing she remembered before passing out was the spreading fire; thankfully, she was alive, and if she was alive then all of the boys were probably safe too, having stopped the fire somehow.

Finally opening her eyes, she was surprised to find herself not laying in a hut as she expected, but still in the jungle; however, not in the same place where she had fallen unconscious. She blinked a few times, assuring her eyesight correct, gasped, and quickly sat up.

She looked around; she was alone, but how? How did she escape the fire? She pushed herself into a kneeling position and then onto her feet. Her head ached; she touched the back of it and felt a bump. She couldn't quite remember exactly how she'd passed out, and she definitely couldn't remember hitting her head when she fell.

"Confused?"

At the sound of a voice she whirled around, only have surprised to be meeting the face of Roger for the second time that morning. "Roger?" she questioned, removing her hand from the bump and placing it subconsciously on her bruised arm. "How did I get here? What happened to the fire?"

"I dragged you away from there," he said, making eye contact with her so that it made her uncomfortable, "after I knocked you out." She was stunned, but she now could recall something large and heavy striking her. "With what?"

"A rock."

"_Why__, _Roger?"

He grinned. "I don't know," he said shrugging, and she could tell, he was being genuine, "a force of habit, I suppose. I find I enjoy hitting pretty, fragile, breakable things." She stared at him. She was frightened and she didn't know what to say, so she stood still, wondering if she should run or scream or try to hurt Roger before he hurt her. He, however, did not take any action either. "Everyone is back on the beach." he continued, and she looked around. How far were they from the beach?

"We were able to get the fire under control, but not before a child went missing. It's a shame, isn't it?" Her mouth dry, Margaret simply nodded. Roger took a step forward, extended an arm, and began scratching the blood from her earlier nosebleed off her chin. "Everyone must think you're missing, too. They're probably all frantic looking for the only girl. Especially that Ralph, he's probably worried out of his right mind. He likes to look at you."

Margaret's heart was racing now. "Does he?" Roger nodded. "He does," he stopped scratching at the blood and instead placed his calloused palm on her cheek, "when he sees you, he get's this look in his eye, a look like he has to have you." He tilted her head upward too meet his eyes. "Do you need him, too?"

She closed her eyes and shuddered. "I don't need anyone," she spoke quietly, "I'm a girl, not helpless." At this, Roger offered a slight smile, but Margaret realized something about it was cold. "Well," he whispered, and Margaret realized that this was the most gentle state she'd seen him in, "then you'd be pleased to know that I will not see you as a helpless girl. If you get in my way, if you get in Jack's way of becoming chief, then I will not let it pass, because you are a girl. I will break you, I will snap your neck if I have to. I will not hesitate simply because," he spoke as if the words were sandy in his mouth, "_you are a girl._"

Her eyes opened. "What's all this talk about Jack becoming chief?" she asked, her heart still racing and her voice still quiet. Roger released the side of her face and his hand moved backwards, into her hair. He pulled at individual strands, causing her pain. "Ralph is weak." He sounded angered, as if he was insulted by Ralph's weakness. "He shouldn't be a leader."

"Why are you telling me this, Roger?"

As soon as the words escaped her mouth, Roger had taken a full grip on her hair and yanked, pulling her close to him by the strands. She audibly gasped, and he brought his face menacingly close to hers. When he spoke, he did not answer her question.

"If Ralph finds out about this, if you try to stand in my way, I will not hesitate to _kill you. _Your gender means nothing to me. I will kill you." He tugged harder, and she felt tears spring to her eyes, remembering being yanked onto the raft by her hair. "Do you understand that Margaret?"

She nodded, and whispered, "Yes."

"And how do you feel about that?"

Her eyes closed again, tightly. "I'm glad."

This wasn't the answer Roger expected. "You're glad?" he said, confused and releasing his grip on her hair. She took this opportunity to pull the strands away from his fingertips. "Yes," she whispered, backing away from him, "I am so glad, all I've wanted is to be thought of something other than just my gender." She was telling the truth, but this was not for the reason she had wanted. She was terrified.

Roger stood there, dumbstruck as she continued to back away; when she found herself backed against a tree, his eyes narrowed. "You're lying." he stated, matter-of-factly. He began to stalk towards her, and she shook her head. "I'm telling the truth," she insisted, unsure of where she was going with this argument, "everyone treats me like being a girl is all there is to me, and if you're blind to that, why," he stood in front of her now, glaring, "why, that's wonderful, really."

She was not prepared for Roger to reach up and strike her; when he had, she found herself knocked over by the blow. Her cheek burned.

Margaret looked up at him. He had turned his back to her and was standing still. "Roger..." she whispered, feeling concerned for reasons unknown to herself. Was he going to turn on her, hit her again? "Roger..." she repeated, but he cut her off. "Go." She blinked. "What?" she questioned, and he spoke again, his voice low and rumbling, like an animalistic growl. "I said go. Remember, if you get in my way, I will not hesitate to kill you."

She didn't move; she was too frightened. When Roger didn't hear her get up, he shouted. "Go, I said get out of here!" Startled, she quickly jumped up and ran, almost falling over herself in the process.

Margaret did not look back in Roger's direction all the while she ran.

* * *

**A/N: **Tada! Chapter 3 in 3 days, I'm honestly pretty proud of myself! Gosh, I love Roger.

Mwah lovelies!

Please review, it would mean a lot, no pressure ;)


	4. Chapter 4

_One of these days, their bombs will drop..._

* * *

Ralph was frantically pacing in the sand, worried and stressed and confused. The other boys surrounding him were in a frenzy; young ones cried and screamed incomprehensible things, their round cheeks still covered with ash; most of the older ones threw their heads in their hands, upset with themselves at the mess they had caused, still smelling of smoke. They kept thinking of the fire, they had let it grow out of control, a boy was now unaccounted for. Ralph, however, found himself apprehensive with what he felt were more pressing matters.

"What happened to her?" he kept repeating, and he would stop and stomp his feet in the sand as a child would. "I...I told her not to go anywhere!" He pulled at his hair. Simon, who looked bewildered but calm compared to the others, kept assuring him, "She's fine, she'll be back, she can handle herself." Ralph ignored these statements and continued thrashing about, creating scenarios of her absence.

He pointed at the ocean, "What if she drowned?" He knew she couldn't swim; he remembered her being pulled onto the raft when the plane had crashed.

He pointed towards the jungle, "What if she fainted again?" Maybe, he decided, she followed them into the clearing; if she passed out then the fire surely would have gotten her. "It isn't as if she's prone to fainting..." Simon muttered, but was ignored again.

Jack, who sat in the sand picking at his dirty fingernails, watched Ralph with mild interest before questioning the younger boy, "Why does she matter so much? I don't see you distraught over the kid." At this, Ralph stopped his pacing, turned to Jack and stared at him. "Because..." he started, but could not continue, as he was cut off.

"Because she's a _girl, _right Ralph?" Jack said smartly, and smirked. Ralph took a threatening step closer to him. "_No,_" he huffed, his face beginning to redden, "because I'm the leader here, and it's my responsibility to make sure everyone is safe," he looked down at the ground and dug his foot into the sand as he lied, "her being a girl has nothing to do with it."

A few feet away, Piggy sat in the sand, sweating and wiping his glasses on his shirt. The conch shell sat in the sand to his left. He was breathing heavy and spoke to no one in particular, shaking his head crossly. "I did know it wasn't a good idear, I did know, I just didn't say nothin' but I did know..." He put his glasses back on his face, then noticed there was still a bit of soot on them and removed them once more. "I shoulda said I knew it wasn't a good idear but no one woulda listened, no one woulda..." He balled his chubby fists and wiped at his eyes. "No one woulda listened 'cause no one ever believes me but I did know..."

Piggy was surprised when a handful of sand cascaded towards him. "Shut up, Fatty." Jack said, blunt and annoyed. Piggy removed his hands from his face and glared at Jack. "You can't talk to me like that, you know, you can't!" he yelled, losing his breath in the process. "Why, I ought 'ta!" At this, Jack just laughed.

"Ought 'ta what, Fatty? Eat me?"

Ralph whirled around to face the two boys. "That's enough!" he shouted, and all the boys on the beach suddenly quieted and turned to look at him, "There's no use in fighting now! We should all be out, looking for Margaret," he thought for a moment, "and the child!" Jack spoke at this, boredly. "Roger said he'd look for them."

Ralph groaned but said nothing more. He continued his pacing. A few of the younger boys resumed their sniffling and crying.

The mood on the beach was tense and solemn, and no one had expected for Margaret to come sprinting out of the trees just minutes later.

Everyone jumped at the sound of her gasp when she fell onto the ground, panting. They all turned their heads and stared at her, silenced once more. She pulled herself onto her knees, raised her head, and stared back. "Sorry, all." she mumbled and stood, wiping off her knees. "Margaret," Ralph said, seemingly angry, bounding towards her, "what in Heaven's name..."

She groaned inwardly; a lecture was simply the _last _thing she wanted. "You see, Ralph," she said, ready to defend herself, "I'm sorry for leaving the beach, I needed to...use the bathroom and then...I got lost..." Ralph stood in front of her. She wasn't sure where her testimony was going, but then realized she hadn't a need to finish when Ralph did not begin to chide her, but instead pulled her into a tight, strangling hug. She stiffened. "We were..." he whispered into her ear, a little too affectionately for her comfort, "_I _was so worried, Margaret." She rolled her eyes over his shoulder and gently nudged him away, shocked when he actually took the hint and let go of her.

"Yes, well," she said, still a bit shaken by her confrontation with Roger, "I'm fine, aren't I?" She offered him a weak, polite smile. He smiled back, and his demeanor still softened. "I'm happy you're okay, Margaret. But," his tone suddenly became a bit more stern, "next time you are given orders, you should listen to them." She nodded, not showing that she only half-cared.

Jack's voice sounded from the cluster of boys now behind Ralph's back. "Did you see Roger in the jungle? He said he would look for you." Margaret swallowed. "No," she lied, "I...I got quite lost." Jack shrugged, satisfied with the answer.

Ralph turned and walked backed among the boys, and Margaret followed, noticing the younger children's runny noses and teary faces. She found Simon in the group and took a seat next to him. He leaned over to his friend and whispered to her. "A little one was unaccounted for," he explained grimly, "they think he..." His voice trailed off.

"Got caught in the fire?" Margaret whispered back, questioning. Simon nodded, and looked at the ground. However, his eyes quickly widened, and he looked back up at her, puzzled.

"How do you know about the fire, Margaret?" he asked, almost accusingly.

"What?"

"How do you know about the fire?" he asked again, and Margaret grew nervous, realizing her mistake, "No one's mentioned it since you came back...how do you know what happened?" She bit her lip; she was unprepared to lie her way out of this question.

However, she became thankful as Roger exited the jungle and came into view, allowing her a distraction. "Roger!" she called out, bringing the boy's presence to everyone else's attention, "Jack told me you were looking for me, but I found my way back to the beach myself," she shot him a nervous, pleading smile, "I'm sorry for wasting your time."

He looked at her, and then quickly looked away, brooding. He stood still as everyone stared at him, and Jack stood up. He walked over to Roger and clapped him on his shoulder jovially. "Well men," Jack said, addressing the group, "the day is still young, so why don't we go hunting?" The boys' mourning and sadness was now replaced with excitement. They all shouted, volunteering themselves. Margaret peered over at Simon; his attention was diverted by the commotion. She was suddenly very thankful.

"I want to hunt!" "I'm a good hunter!" "I killed a deer with my Pa once!" "I'm strong! I can do it!"

"Hey, hey! Hush down!" Piggy raised his voice over the others. He hurriedly reached to his left, groping for the conch shell and clutching it in his hands. He stumbled to his feet and prepared to blow into the conch, but, remembering that he was physically incapable of doing so, opted to hold it over his head and continue to yell. "Hey! Stop it, stop it, the lot of you! I got the shell, I do, I got the shell! Now hush, you all!" he wailed, exhausting himself. Still, the boys slowly quieted, if only to listen to Piggy keep shouting and embarrassing himself. They all giggled.

By the time they had come to a complete silence, he had caught his breath. "Hey," he said, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose, "a boy, one of us, is missing! He's missing, and you're all just gonna go hunt? Why, now! A boy is missing! He could be, he could be..." Piggy suddenly stopped talking, not wanting to say what was on everyone's mind. _He could be dead._

Jack scoffed at him, but Ralph sighed. "Piggy," he said, tender but commanding, "we've looked everywhere. Roger searched the jungle. We're not going to find him." Piggy frowned stubbornly and dropped the conch. It landed in the sand with gentle thud. He sat back down in the sand, agitated by the other's foolishness.

Margaret looked over at Piggy; she felt she could sympathize with him. He didn't fit in with the other boys, and neither did she. Neither of them were taken seriously. She pitied him, but she also pitied herself. They were, as she had heard it put before, the "odd ones out."

Ralph turned his attention back to Jack. "Alright, assemble your hunters," he said to the older boy, who nodded, "but, no one under the age of thirteen." Jack nodded and shrugged; this, he supposed, was a reasonable rule. He couldn't have any weak links slowing him down. "No one under the age of thirteen is allowed to hunt!" he repeated, addressing the crowd. There was a multitude of groans. "Hey!" he shouted, "No whining! Take it like men!" The complaining quickly stopped. Jack smiled, feeling accomplished.

* * *

A few hours had passed.

Jack and his group of hunters, which consisted of Roger, Maurice, Robert, and a few other older boys whose names Margaret couldn't recall, had long since left on their excursion, carrying sticks that Jack had sharpened with his knife. Everyone else remained on the beach. The little boys played tag, built sandcastles, and dared to wade ankle-deep in the water; most of the leftover older boys lounged around, even though Ralph had asked them countless times to help him in the building and fixing of huts.

Margaret sat devouring fruits, having been given the job of watching the children; she detested this, but dealt with it seeing as she had already received one pardon that day. Piggy inspected the huts that had already been made, pointing out flaws to Ralph, who pretended to care. Simon assisted Ralph with the constructing, the only person doing so. Ralph did not hesitate to complain about this.

"You all are so damn lazy, these huts are important, and I've given you orders to build them!" His requests went on ignored as those he spoke to talked with one another and shared jokes.

Seeing this as an opportunity, Margaret spoke up, "I'll help with the huts, Ralph." Her offer was brushed off with a wave of the hand. "There's no need for that Margaret, you have a job of your own already." He held two palm leaves together as Simon secured them with a vine.

"Perhaps you should let her help, Ralph." Simon said, and looked over at Margaret who smiled gratefully. He finished tying the leaves and Ralph took them in his hands, and placed them with similar bundles that were situated in a large cone-like formation; however, as he let them go and moved to tie all of the bundles together and finish the hut, they came falling down in a heap. Ralph kicked at them. "Damn it!"

He shut his eyes and took a few breaths to regain his composure. He turned to face Margaret, opened his eyes, and grinned. "Actually," he said, wiping the sweat off of his forehead with the back of his hand, "I'll have another job for you when night comes Margaret." Hearing this, the girl bit into another piece of fruit, interested. "Really? What would that be?" Ralph pointed his thumb behind him, at the jungle. "You'll get to watch the fire all night, on the mountain," he explained, "to make sure it doesn't go out. We'll need to maintain a signal fire."

She nodded, understanding, and he continued. "You won't be alone, of course. Jack's going to be up there, with you. Carlton and Robert are tending it as of now." Her heart quickly sank, remembering what Jack had said to her the previous night in her hut.

It wasn't that she was afraid of Jack; she was sure that his little speech about "getting to know each other" was him just talking, making noise, trying to sound tough and in charge. The fact was, he appalled her. There was something about him that was just so cocky, so self-involved. She couldn't hold a conversation with him for five minutes, let alone bear to sit next to him for an entire night.

"Jack?" she asked, and Ralph confirmed with a nod, "Why Jack? I would much rather be up there with Simon, or Piggy even." She pointed over at Simon who pretended he hadn't heard, trying to stay uninvolved. Ralph shook his head. "No, I'll need Simon here with me, and Piggy can't make the trek." Piggy, who stood a few feet away, scratched at some sand in his hair and squinted at her through his glasses, "Nope, I sure can't."

"But..." Margaret started, and Ralph shook his head again. "It's not under debate Margaret, you're tending the fire tonight." She seethed. She was tired of being ordered around and she wished she could say something.

"Why is it that you trust Jack so much?" she suddenly blurted out. Ralph sent her a questioning look, and before she thought to stop herself, she continued, "You rely so much on him, but we've only been here two, no, _not even two _days and he's already..." Finally realizing where her words were leading, she clamped her mouth shut. She cursed herself inwardly. Ralph stared at her, and Piggy and Simon began to don the same perplexed expressions as they processed her words. "He's already _what, _Margaret?"

_He's already planning to take you out as leader, you fool. _"He's already..." she heeded Roger's warning, "...he's already hunting, and we have other things to do around here, don't we? More important things," she pointed at the mess at Ralph's feet, "like the huts!"

Ralph's confusion faded, and Margaret became relieved that he seemed to believe her lie.

"Well, I suppose so," Ralph said, reaching down and gathering a few of the large bundles in his arms, "but that doesn't mean he isn't trustworthy. He just has...other priorities, and we do need food." Margaret nodded, a fake smile plastered across her face. "Yes," she said, "I guess you're right, my mistake."

The conversation was finished and Ralph and Simon picked up the palm leaves and resumed construction. After assembling the cone this time, Ralph had Simon hold all of the bundles together as he tied it; they successfully completed a secure hut, and moved on to fixing another. Margaret's attention returned to the children, who she scolded a few times for roughhousing. Piggy stopped scanning the huts and plopped himself down in the sand near her, exhausted. Somehow, a few minutes later they ended up talking about literature and Mrs. Thatch's work as an author.

Margaret enjoyed this; it was almost serene. The last two days had been so hectic, it was nice to be having a relaxed, peaceful conversation about something not related to being stranded on this island.

However, the peacefulness became short-lived when the group of hunters, led by Jack, sprang out of the jungle. They were shouting and chanting, making animal noises and grunting, and they were all shirtless. Margaret rolled her eyes at their immaturity.

Instead of stopping at the camp, they burst past all the others who watched in shock and continued running down the beach. In the excitement, all of the young boys jumped to their feet and chased after them, wherever they were going, mimicking their wild sounds and behavior. "Stop it, kids!" Margaret yelled after them, but they did not hear over their cries, or simply did not care to stop. They continued running after the hunters.

Margaret and the older boys watched after them, utterly confused and unknowing of what to do next. "Should we..." Sam, who sat with the others finally spoke, and his brother finished his sentence, "...go after them?" Ralph, clearly unsure himself, nodded and everyone who had been sitting stood up. As a group, they began walking after those who had ran, unspeaking as their minds dwelled in the scene they had just witnessed.

As they walked, they realized the other boys had not gone far; they were just a ways down the beach, and as Margaret approached them, she realized they were all bounding into a blue, crystal-clear lagoon.

She found it almost comical, until she saw all of the pants, shirts, and even underwear that were scattered around the ground. All of the boys had stripped, and they were now nude, splashing around in the water. She wasn't the only one to notice.

"What's this?" Ralph shouted, mostly unnoticed as everyone was captivated with swimming and having fun. He looked around, and noticed that Sam, Eric, and the other older boys were also stripping and then jumping into the water, himself, Margaret, Piggy, and Simon the only ones remaining. He began to grow frustrated. "Cover yourselves up!" he yelled, pointing at the garments decorating the sand, "There's a lady here, you know!"

The only person to respond or pay attention to this statement was Jack. "So, no one said she can't join us!"

He winked at her and from where he was treading in the lagoon splashed some water at her. She backed away from it, irritated. Ralph glared at the redhead, who laughed. "Come on," Jack said, "we've all been working so hard today, why not enjoy a swim?" Ralph folded his arms. "_We've _been working hard, on the beach making huts. _You've _been off playing 'hunter.'" Despite his words or irritation, Ralph reached up and began to unbutton the top of his shirt, forgetting Margaret stood next to him. Embarrassed, she turned her head to face the other way, her hand over her mouth to try and hide her blush. _Boys have no discretion!_

She heard Jack's laugh again. "Look at her," he was almost doubling over now and Roger, who was nearby, began to join him, "who knew! Virgin Margaret!" Still facing the other way, Margaret resisted the urge to jump in the water herself and drown him.

Finally realizing his rudeness, Ralph spoke over his shoulder to her, "You should go back to the beach, Margaret. There's a lot of boys here." She rolled her eyes though he couldn't see. She almost wished she had the courage to strip down herself, just to defy him. But, he was right; she did not want to be here. She nodded and turned to face away from the multitude of naked boys, trudging back towards the camp.

By time she was gone Ralph had jumped into the water and was already enjoying himself; Piggy had rolled up the ankles of his trousers and sat on the ledge of lagoon, soaking his feet in the pool.

Simon, who had been watching the wild scene quietly, had no intent of joining the boys in the water, and for some reason, had no desire to join Margaret at camp either. He decided to seek his own form of relaxation; isolation.

He turned on his heel and walked towards the jungle, unnoticed.

The farther away he walked from the bustle of the boys, the more peaceful he felt. He looked around the trees, taking in the sights as Margaret had the day before. It was large, exotic. He memorized the views he passed as to not get lost upon return. _This bush is larger than the rest, that tree has unusual red fruit on it, there's a fallen log, it's hollow._

Simon walked for ten minutes before he stopped at a parting in the trees; as he passed through it, he found himself in another clearing, and at a loss for words.

It was smaller than the field at the top of the mountains, but his eyes widened as he took in the vastness of beauty it contained. There were birds jumping and chirping in the lush-looking, deep green grasses. There were bunches of flowers of all colors, and from where he stood he inhaled their fresh, fruity aroma. Butterflies seemed to flock these flowers, greedily consuming their nectar and adding to the beauty.

He knew already, this would be his haven.

Simon looked around to make sure he hadn't been followed, perhaps by a curious child, or even Margaret seeking his company. When he was sure he was alone, he stepped into the clearing. He sat down in the grass. He was happy here.

* * *

Nightfall had eventually come, and all of the boys returned to the beach, laughing and chatting. They were all consumed in their own business and paid no attention to Margaret, or Simon who had since returned from his walk. He didn't tell Margaret of the clearing; he decided it was something he would keep to his own.

Jack was the first to approach her when he had returned; she expected a rude remark, but he simply asked her if she was ready to go to the mountain and tend the fire. Without more than a wave to Simon, Margaret had followed him into the jungle.

Navigating around trees and bushes proved difficult in the darkness, and Margaret trailed close behind Jack as to not fall or trip over anything. He had not spoken once since leaving the beach, and she found this odd, so odd that she felt the need to try and start a conversation herself. "How did hunting play out today, Jack?" Instead of a reply, she received a disinterested grunt. She didn't understand why Jack was being so standoffish; in the past two days she had known him, he always had an opinion or a snarky comment to offer.

"Oh, that bad?" she said jokingly, trying to add some humor to the situation.

Jack suddenly turned around to face her, shoving her into a tree. She was stunned.

He held onto her shoulders, pinning her between himself and the trunk. He leaned against her in an almost intimate way, not considering her personal space in the matter. He brought his face only inches from hers.

"Listen," he said through clenched teeth, "I am a great hunter." He pushed her further into the tree, and his body harder against hers. She wasn't afraid; she was shocked. Where had this attitude come from? Only hours ago he had been making jokes and being his regular, vile self. "What's the matter with you, Jack?" she questioned quietly, and he lifted her shoulders away from the tree and then slammed her back, causing her to knock her head in the process. She gasped in pain, her skull still sensitive from where Roger had hit her with the rock.

"Watch your mouth." He was demanding, and she had never seen this serious a side of him before. Why was she so angry? She blinked at him. His nails began to dig into her skin through her shirt. "Know your place, you ugly bitch."

He startled her when he lifted a knee and moved in between her own two. Still, she said nothing. "You may have Ralph all caught up in you, but I am not like Ralph. All he wants is a lay, and he thinks he'll get it by catering to you." She was shaking now. Seeing Jack in this angry state made her nervous, and she was confused. "What are you talking about?" she whispered. He slammed her into the tree once more.

"You think you can sell me out to Ralph? Tell him that I'm not doing my job? That hunting is not important?" He squeezed her shoulders so hard that she almost screamed. "No," she managed to say, "that's not what..." "Shut up!" He slammed her again. Then he removed one of his hands, and a few seconds later, she felt something sharp on the surface of her stomach.

She swallowed, knowing that it was Jack's knife.

"Ralph, he gives you such special treatment," he seethed, and Margaret wondered how she could get herself out of being killed that night, "and for what? You're not even pretty, you're an ugly tramp."

"Jack, I didn't..." "Shut up!"

She stopped talking. "As soon as I'm chief," he said, raising his knife to prod her chest, and then her throat, "I will make sure you get what you've had coming. And it will be soon, I swear it." His other arm moved from her shoulder and to her forearm that Roger had bruised. He squeezed it, and she gasped again. She had no idea what to do; she couldn't run, she was in no position that she could defend herself. He squeezed it again. "No one makes a fool out of me," he whispered, and suddenly he was no longer on top of her, "remember that next time you decide to open your mouth."

He was walking away now, and she still leaned against the tree, frozen in place. She was unsure of whether to follow him, or to run back to the camp. It felt as though there were slabs of concrete attached to her feet.

She heard Jack stop walking. "Come on."

Too terrified to refuse his request, she followed the sound of his footsteps.

* * *

**A/N: **I'm still a little upset from my earlier discovery (see the previous 'chapter' titled Author's Note) but as promised, here is chapter four. My longest chapter yet! 4,500 words, wheee.

I've already received a few PM's about the situation, and to my relief my stolen work has been taken down from the other website. Thank you to those who messaged me or reported it, although I'm sure that it's not gone for good. Ah well, either way I am really so grateful :) In a few days, I'll probably delete the author's note.

Thank you for reading and supporting me, feel free to review!

Much love and kisses and hugs


	5. Chapter 5

_You've burned me, once again..._

* * *

Margaret wasn't sure what she had expected to come of that night.

After Jack's violent and terrifying outburst, he had finished escorting her to the mountain clearing just as he had began; broodingly and silently. Having learned her lesson the first time, she did not speak either. There was obvious tension between the two and she did not want to irritate it, especially before having to spend an entire night with him.

When they reached the field, the two boys who had been monitoring the fire became alert when they heard Margaret and Jack approach. Jack did not call them by their names, which Margaret remembered to be Carlton and Robert, but rather addressed them as _you and you_. He demanded they "get out of here, now," and the two boys replied with individual, "Yes, sirs!" They pulled themselves to their feet and rushed away. Margaret watched in frightened fascination as Jack had dictated the boys, and they had responded so willingly.

When the boys had gone, Jack sat on one side of the fire pit, still not speaking. Margaret sat on the other side, and the pair remained for almost an hour keeping to themselves, each pretending the other did not exist. She picked at knots in her hair; he retrieved a twig from the firewood and scraped at it with his knife.

It was an awkward arrangement, but Margaret was content with it, so long as she was not yelled at or threatened by Jack again. She did not wish to worsen the situation for herself, and she was sure Jack did not wish to be agitated any further. She welcomed the silence; she enjoyed it, even.

Therefore, Margaret was surprised when her company muttered a short and curt, "Sorry."

She turned her head to face Jack, who now sat cross-legged, his elbow resting on his knee, chin in his palm. His head faced the opposite direction, and he appeared to be either indignant or deep in thought. Margaret believed she had imagined his voice, and dared to ask him, "Did you say something?"

"I said sorry." He spoke loudly and clearly, and she was sure she hadn't misheard this time. He sounded frustrated, and the hostility in his voice made her jump a bit. He turned his head and glared at her begrudgingly, but she could only return a stare of confusion, her eyes wide, her lips slightly parted. Eventually, he tired of her questioning look, and slammed his fists into the ground that surrounded him. Margaret flinched, sure he was going to yell at her. Instead, his expression became stressed and he removed his hands from the dirt and wrapped them around his knees.

"I'm sorry." He was quiet once more, and he didn't look at her. "I don't usually become violent. I'm not a bad person." She watched him almost cautiously as he rested his forehead on his knees. What had come over him? She had not once so far seen him apologetic.

All she could whisper in response was, "It's alright, Jack. I'm not hurt."

"I don't like you, Margaret. I don't like you at all."

Margaret knew this fact, as it had become obvious in the few days she had known the boy; still, his statement had taken her aback. She fidgeted where she sat. Why was he acting like this? She didn't wish to quarrel with him now. The tension between them had just began to die down.

He looked up at her, and she nodded, uncomfortable and confused. He kept talking. "I don't like you, but I'm not going to hit you. I'm not going to hurt you." He licked his dry lips. "I'm going to be chief, and I need you on my side." He looked upwards at the sky for a moment, and then shut his eyes. She suddenly felt herself grow angry. "Why am I necessary?"

Jack looked at her again before he began to explain, "If you agree with me becoming chief, the others will join you. Simon, the children, maybe even the fat ass," Margaret cringed knowing he referred to Piggy, "I can't have you supporting Ralph. It can't work like that."

Her frustration flared. "I don't _support _either of you." Jack quietly laughed at this, but Margaret stood and stomped over to him. "This is all nonsense, neither of you are fit to be chief! Ralph doesn't have a backbone, and you don't have a brain..."

Her sentence was cut off by her own gasp as Jack grabbed her ankle, pulling it out from under her and causing her to fall to the ground. She fell painfully onto her tailbone. Jack released her ankle and said nothing; he had only wanted her to stop talking. He moved his body back to the position he had been in five minutes ago, with his legs crossed and his chin resting in his palm.

Against Jack's apparent wishes, Margaret spoke again where she lay, looking up at the stars. "Neither of you are fit to be chief," she repeated, exasperated, "but I would still prefer Ralph's leadership over yours. He's responsible, and a gentleman, and he knows how to treat people."

The redhead was immediately on top of her, straddling her stomach with his legs, his knife in his hand held dangerously close to her neck. "Take it back!" he said through clenched teeth, but Margaret shook her head. She felt devious. "You're not going to hurt me," she whispered, causing him to recall his earlier statement. She tried to seem as calm as possible, although she felt she was being crushed under the weight of his body. She wriggled around, but his legs' grip on her only grew tighter.

He narrowed his eyes at her, but moved the knife, and she watched from an awkward angle as he threw it behind his back, a few yards away. She tried to give him a smug look, but in actuality felt very relieved.

Jack narrowed his eyes at her. "Take it back, I said." Margaret shook her head once more, and pressed her lips together tightly. He stared at her for a few more agonizing seconds, and she thought that he would strike at any moment. However, he pushed himself off of her and stood. She remained laying on the ground, unsure of what to do, as Jack brushed the dirt off his knees.

"I won't hurt you," he finally said, walking over to his knife and picking it up, "but I swear, you had better watch yourself." Margaret nodded; this was becoming a familiar phrase. She lifted herself to rest on her elbows, watching him as he took his place once more by the fire.

Sometime in the past few days, she found threats had become nearly meaningless. Yes, they were still frightening, enough so to make her do certain things or act a certain way or even panic. They were typical now, though; she had heard so many threats aimed towards her. _Watch yourself. _

She and Jack did not speak for the rest of the night.

* * *

After that night, the days on the island became almost routine to Margaret. She awoke at a time that felt very early, made a meal of fruit, would watch the young children play on the beach while the older boys worked or hunted. She supposed she didn't mind this arrangement.

Eventually, days on the island blurred into what felt like weeks; she and the others had lost track of time.

Huts were still being constructed on the beach, each one a bit sturdier than the last. The hunters had yet to catch a pig, but were apparently becoming closer and closer to with each passing day. When the sun began to set, all of the boys would go swimming in the lagoon, except Simon who Margaret watched wander off a few times.

Every day that they swam, they seemed to return to the beach with one less article of clothing.

The day following Margaret watching the fire, she had told Ralph she couldn't bear the mosquitoes on the mountain; he had not asked her to return to watch the fire since. She was thankful for his doting.

Neither Jack nor Roger had approached her since that night, and she found this a relief; however, she knew they were only scheming, to catch pigs and to take Ralph out of his leadership role. Still, she hadn't warned Ralph. She decided it would be better for her to not meddle, to avoid another confrontation with the two hunters.

The young boys would often speak of "the beast," reporting nightmares and even sightings of the incredulous monster. Ralph and Piggy continued to assure them that no such monster exists, but when they could not settle the children's fears, they gave up and began to simply ignore them.

On some days, Margaret and the older boys felt themselves having unbearable stomach pains, and the younger children began having terrible bouts of diarrhea and nausea. Piggy announced that it was from the fruits they had been consuming, but he was disregarded. Still, everyone decided that it was in their best interest for the hunters to catch a pig soon.

One morning, Margaret awoke and emerged from her hut to find the hunters standing in a line on the beach, Jack speaking to them as if a military general would address his soldiers. They all had painted faces; she would later learn that this camouflage mask was a mixture of charcoal and clay found in the lagoon.

"Alright, men!" she listened as Jack yelled at the group of boys who stood at attention, "This will be the day! We will kill a pig!"

The hunters were excited. The jumped and squealed, and Margaret was awed as they became wild, stomping their feet in the sand and swinging their spears in the air. She looked around. Where was Ralph? He, she knew, would never condone such animalistic behavior. _  
_

He wasn't there. She grew increasingly frustrated as she watched the boys wail. "Jack!" she called over the noise, without realization of her own actions, "Where is Ralph?"

Jack noticed her calling him over the ruckus, and without bothering to calm his hunters walked over to her with his hands on his hips, obviously proud of himself. He grinned smugly, and as he approached her, rather than answering her question he asked questions himself. "What's wrong, Margaret? You've got to depend on Ralph for everything? Can't go a few minutes without seeing your precious _Ralphie?_"

She ignored his jokes. "Don't avoid the question," she sighed, "I asked, where is Ralph?" Jack grinned wider. "Why, Margaret, I could do you the favor of telling you, but..." he folded his arms across his bare chest and his expression grew noticeably more malicious, "...but you've been ignoring me, haven't you? And I must admit, I don't like being ignored." Margaret's eyes drifted downwards, watching as Jack slipped a threatening hand into the pocket where she knew he kept his knife.

She did not allow the gesture to panic her; she knew his games. "Well, Jack," she spoke calmly, moving her eyes from the knife and up, looking him in the face, "I was only listening to what you told me. I've been _watching myself. _I would hate to anger you." Jack was unmoving, his hand still in his pocket and giving her the same stern glare. When he did not speak, she continued. "Now, if you don't mind, I would just like to know where Ralph is and I won't bother you any more."

Jack stared at her for a few more moments, but eventually moved his hand away from his pocket. He appeared a little more relaxed. "Lover boy is at the lagoon. Left this morning with the fat-ass," he paused, "they all spend a lot of time together, perhaps they're lovers themselves." He laughed, and Margaret rolled her eyes at the cruel joke.

He turned to leave and rejoin his hunters, but quickly faced her once more. "Now, don't tell Ralph we went hunting, got that?" he warned. She shrugged; what did she care? "Also," he dramatically covered his nose with his palm, grinning, "you might want to try bathing soon. You've taken to a revolting smell." Immediately Jack ran off, and upon his return to his group they all sprinted into the jungle, chanting _Kill the pig! Kill the pig!_

The beach becoming quieter as the hunters left, Margaret walked over to the little boys, who sat in the sand, idly building castles and rambling on to one another. "Good morning," she addressed them, yawning. They kept to their tasks, not responding.

She sat in the sand and looked around, realizing someone was missing. "Simon!" she called, turning around and trying to find where her friend had run off to this morning, "Simon!"

A boy turned his head to her and spoke. "Simon went in 'ta woods 'tis mornin'. He ain't been back."

Margaret nodded at the boy; she wasn't surprised. He was away nearly every morning now, usually before she woke up, and back by what seemed to be mid-afternoon. She couldn't help but wonder where he kept running off too, but she decided she would leave him alone for now.

She thought for a moment and turned to the cluster of children. "Boys," she said gently, and they all turned their heads to look at her, "would you all be fine if I went somewhere by myself for awhile? You won't get into any trouble?" They nodded, and she smiled, thankful. As much as she hated Jack, he was right; she needed to bathe. It had to be unhealthy to go this long without doing so.

With a few words of instruction, _don't go near the water, be mindful of others, limit yourselves to one piece of fruit so you don't get so sick, _she began to walk into the jungle. She headed towards the lagoon, but wanted to find a part of it that was shaded by trees and where the others didn't swim; she didn't want to risk running into Ralph, Piggy, the hunters, or Simon. She needed some time to herself finally.

* * *

It did not take Margaret long to reach the water, deep enough into the jungle that it was to her liking. Above her, the morning sun filtered through the palm leaves, striking the water in such a way that made it almost reflective; as she approached the bank of the lagoon and caught a glimpse of herself, her hair matted and cheeks stained brown, she thanked herself for choosing to finally bathe.

She glanced at her surroundings and, ensuring herself that she was alone, began to peel off the top that so desperately clung to her skin, cemented by dirt and and grime. It fluttered to the ground and landed in a heap at her feet.

Goosebumps freckled across her arms and neck as she exposed them to the fresh air. She felt a chill, but it wasn't unpleasant; if anything, her bare skin made her feel less restricted, and cleaner already. She began to rub at some of the filth that had gathered on her arm, and grains of sand and particles of dirt flew off. She wanted to feel clean. Almost desperately, her fingertips grabbed at the hem of her camisole and pulled it over her head; a few swift moments later she had unhooked her cotton brassiere. The two articles joined her top on the jungle floor.

The warm air ghosting her skin, she hooked her thumbs into the waistband of her skirt and pulled it down. She kicked it away as it fell to her ankles, and the palms of her hands instinctively fell to her thighs, running across her flesh. She was surprised when her touches were met with long, soft hairs; how long had it actually been since she had taken a warm bath, washed, and shaven?

She stroked her thighs some more and grimaced; the feeling was almost unnerving. She was so used to being well-groomed, having smooth skin, it felt unnatural although the hair grew from her naturally. She was even mildly disgusted.

She also, however, felt uninhibited.

She didn't feel the need to chide herself about being unkempt because, who was she trying to impress here? She could be unrestricted, she could be comfortable with her body and all of the odds-and-ends that came with it. Such a simple thing as having prickly legs made her feel absolutely free, formidable even, and she liked it.

Margaret felt good. With one final tug of her garments, she lowered her briefs and removed them from her body. She stepped into the water, pleased to find that it was as shallow as it looked and she could stand and have her neck stay above the water. She lowered herself in and, her entire body now submerged, she recalled the last time she had been under waves.

It was not something she liked to think about. Her body shivered remembering the filling of her lungs and nose, the lack of air, the soreness of her scalp after being yanked to safety by her own hair. Pitying herself, her hand moved up and ran along her cranium, the aching feeling far too physically memorable.

She then lowered her hand into view; it was covered in a layer of thin mud now, and she realized the extent of her hygiene. She scooped handfuls of water into her palms and wet her head with them, scrubbing at the dirt with her fingernails. Margaret knew that no matter how hard and long she worked at her hair, it would not come out completely clean. She accepted this fact, thankful that her hair was brown and would disguise the remnants anyway.

_What would my mother think if she saw me now! _

Margaret smiled, knowing exactly what she would think. She would've been appalled to see her daughter naked in a river, covered in a coating of earth that couldn't possibly be even scraped off, her hair ratty, her body bonier than ever. She would hardly think it was a humorous scene; rather than a sight for sore eyes, it was a sight that would make her eyes sore and possibly fall out of her head.

Margaret was laughing aloud now, having imagined her mother's empty eye sockets as her eyeballs rolled unceremoniously across their kitchen table. It was gruesome, but she couldn't imagine any other reaction.

She was doubled over, and tears sprang to her eyes as she continued to scrub at her skin. She hadn't laughed, especially hadn't laughed this fiercely, in so long. It was almost painful, the sounds erupting from her like that of the wild pigs the hunters sought. Perhaps they would hear her and come after her and spear her right then!

And, oh, her mother's eyes would keep rolling and rolling and rolling! She grabbed her ribcage, the pain of her ecstasy shooting wildly through her body, her eyes growing wetter as she laughed and laughed. Oh, her poor mother!

She gasped for air. Her abdomen hurt, her head hurt, her limbs hurt from laughing so hard. Her mother would have had the same silly reaction if she saw Margaret laughing like this. She thought about it again and again, more laughter and more pain. Her mother must have had the same silly reaction when she found out Margaret's plane was missing! _Ma'am, we regret to inform you that we haven't the whereabouts of your daughter._ Her eyes would have simply rolled away by now, off the edge of the earth, onto another planet, out of this galaxy!

Margaret was laughing, laughing, laughing, and then she was crying. It was weak at first; her laughs had quieted, and sobs immediately shot from her body as if they were struggling, lost on their way out of their home. They were disguised by shaky breaths and dry lips that she struggled to press together.

Then, suddenly, they were loud and piercing; a terrifying screaming cry that sent birds in the trees above flocking away. She didn't want to cry, she wanted to laugh and make the best out of this, but they poured out of her. They bounced off the trees around her, buzzing in her ears, making her cry harder and louder and she couldn't figure out why.

She couldn't stop or restrict them; they forced their way out of her with spears and knives, scraping across her vocal chords with so much vigor and creating so much pain that she thought she would be incapable of continuing. Still, they fought for their freedom and she continued to cry.

Her heart was sore but she couldn't stop; her brain was overwhelmed but she couldn't stop. She tried to bite her lip, bury her head in her hands, threaten herself with self-inflicted slaps and punches. She couldn't breathe anymore and they kept coming. They wanted to get out, they were excited for it and they had been waiting.

She couldn't hear herself now, her ears had stopped working, but she was still crying, she knew. _Why am I doing this? _She scrubbed at her skin, trying to calm herself down. _I am crazy, I am crazy, please let me stop, please. _Her hands moved to struggle with the dirt on her legs and feet. She reached over to the bank of the lagoon and grabbed her clothes, dragging them into the water. She soaked them and held them over herself, letting the water pour out of them and drench her. _I'm hot, I am just overheated and I need to relax, please, please. __  
_

Still, she cried, and it was a fierce cry and she didn't know why.

* * *

Jack bounded onto the beach, smiling larger than he ever had before. His hunters followed suit. The group held between them two spears; on each, one end of a large black pig was tied, the front legs, the back legs. They were cheering and chanting, only this time proudly, having finally accomplished their goal.

Upon their arrival, they had expected an immediate celebration for their impressive feat; the beach, however, was silent. Jack frowned. Where was the fat-ass to congratulate him? Where was Ralph to admit the errors of his judgement? Where was the ugly bitch to kiss the ground he walked on, and honor him with her life and body?

He knew he was only humoring himself; those three would never give him any sort of appeasement. Still, he was confused. He knew there should have been at least some sort of excitement, but there was nothing. He had gotten everyone food! Meat! And yet, no one was here to thank him. He was growing upset. He deserved better than this; perhaps he simply wouldn't let them eat. That would teach them to respect their rightfully authoritative figures. That would teach them to disrespect him like this.

Suddenly, quite a ways down the beach, he did spot Ralph. He sat with Piggy and Simon and the little boys in the sand, and Jack called out to them. "Hey, look here you all, if you want to eat tonight!"

Barely hearing his voice, they looked over in the direction of the hunters. Jack could tell they were angry, sulking for some unknown reason, but still he began running over to them, ordering his group to follow. They took chase on the beach, lugging the large pig, what was left of its blood cascading in droplets into the sand as they ran. By the time they had reached Ralph and the others they were all out of breath, but still smiled as they paraded their catch.

Ralph first looked up at Jack with tired, angry eyes. Jack was oblivious. "You didn't think we could do it, did you," he walked over to the pig and slapped its hairy belly, "but here it is, a pig, and I think you owe me an apology." He smirked expectantly. Ralph, however, only stood with his fists clenched viciously at his sides.

"Jack, you fuck-all," he said through clenched teeth, causing the other boy's cool demeanor to suddenly waver, "you let the damned fire go out! Have you shit for brains? Have you?" The hunters were suddenly silent, not whispering amongst each other or even breathing loudly. They looked at one another, suddenly growing panicked. Jack, however, tried to contain his composure, rolling his eyes and referring once more to his pig; "I may have, but I caught us a pig you ungrateful shit." He snickered and half turned to Roger, who stood stoical on his left.

"There was a _ship_!" cried Ralph loudly, angrily and exasperatedly throwing himself back to sitting in the sand. Jack's eyes widened. "Yeah?" he stammered, struggling to have the upper hand, "Well, you could have been taking care of it. I don't see how it's my fault, really-"

"Jack!" Ralph yelled, standing once more and taking a threatening step towards the redheaded boy, "If you don't shut your ugly mouth I swear, I will shove my fist down your throat!" As this statement, Jack laughed and after a few angry glances at the hunters, he was joined by a chorus of awkward, uncomfortable chuckles. "Would you listen to yourself?" he taunted as Ralph fumed, "You sound like a git, it's pathetic how you try to sound so in charge but end up sounding so dense." When Ralph did not immediately retaliate, Jack continued, "Why don't you just let your fat-ass of a boyfriend comfort you Ralph?"

He wasn't prepared for the blonde boy to shove him then, and he surely didn't expect to begin to fall over. As he fell, he grabbed Ralph by the arm and dragged him down as well. They were suddenly a tumbling mess, rolling and throwing punches, each struggling to attain an advantage over the other. The hunters cheered at the brawl, rooting for their leader; the other boys remained silent, unsure of what to make of the fight.

Ralph grabbed for Jack's hair and pulled, a tactic he has once heard caused a lot of pain; Jack retaliated by swinging his elbow and hitting Ralph square in the knows, immediately drawing blood. Ralph's knee connected with Jack's stomach, and Jack's palm latched onto Ralph's face.

No one could tell who was "winning" the fight; it was a blur of limbs and angry words.

No one had noticed Margaret walking out of the jungle, her clothes still damp and her eyes red and swollen.

No one had expected her to bolt over to the clashing boys and try to pull them off of each other.

One could refer to it as a brave gesture at best, but none could call it wise. Not Jack nor Ralph reacted to her trying to pull and pry them, using all of her strength but failing in her desperate efforts to remain civility.

It was Roger who had approached her from behind, yanked her off of them, and thrown her into the sand so forcefully that a cracking noise could be heard coming from her wrist as she fell onto it. Before anyone realized he had done it, Roger began to kick her, in the face, in the stomach, anyplace he could manage to connect his foot with. He did it with ferocity, and she struggled to move or fight back. He muttered obscenities at her under his breath, _bitch, cunt, whore. _

It was only when she began screaming, out of both terror and pain, that anyone directed their attention from Jack and Ralph over to Roger and Margaret. The hunters had gone silent, and when all that could be heard was Margaret's cries, the two fighting boys finally slowed to a stop. Their heads turned to face where, only a few feet away, Margaret was being beaten, her nose now bleeding and bruises already forming.

No one said a word, except Margaret who, between screams, seemed to say, "Stop!" and "Please!" although her vocal chords were clearly strained and she struggled to make sounds. No one took any action except to watch the scene unfolding before them.

He kicked her in the ribs, in the chin, in the wrist that she had fallen on, and in addition to her screams, she cried again, unsure of how to help herself. Roger wouldn't stop. He was ruthless and no one was coming to her rescue. She tried to crawl away, but his blows would stop her before she could get anywhere. She reached for Ralph, wordlessly begging for assistance, but he just stared, wide-eyed and terrified. Even Jack appeared a bit shocked, but as Margaret watched him she saw him crack a small smile. He was enjoying her pain.

In the sand below her, she saw pools of blood, but she couldn't determine if it was hers or the pig's that the hunters had carried over. Not that it mattered, she decided, blood was blood. She and the pig were both victims. They were both helpless and she didn't know how to solve this.

Terror brimming in her eyes as Roger kicked and kicked her, she tried to look over at where Simon had been sitting; he was gone. Her mind reached out to him, _Simon, I need you, please. _Roger continued to swear at her. Jack was giggling now.

After what felt like hours, Roger finally stopped abruptly. Margaret felt her entire body heave a sigh of relief, until her hair was yanked from behind. For the second time that day, she was reminded of the plane accident.

Roger pulled her head into the air, contrasting with her body that was so desperate to lay limp on the ground.

"Do not intervene, bitch," he seethed into her ear, and she grimaced at the pain that enveloped her body, "or you will regret it. Spare yourself."

She closed her eyes. She was trying, trying so hard.

* * *

**A/N: Yay, it's been awhile! Longest chapter yet!**

**Forewarning, after this chapter Cold Water will be listed as M. That means, if you'd like to keep reading this and aren't following it, make sure you look under the M rating section!**

**Thank you lovelies! Please review and stuff!**


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